marbles. A great number of really fine portraits -several Vandykes, some Murillos; and one Raphael--portrait of a lady-very Madonnalike and beautiful; some lions of Rubens; and a Henry VIII. of Holbein.

At the Lodge we were shown Guy of Warwick's porridge pot, about as large as a common potash kettle; and his hook, a sort of pitchfork, to fish up dinner from the caldron; also, his twohanded sword; his walking stick, big enough for Polyphemus; the armour of his horse-breastplate, headpiece or helmet, &c., &c.

STRATFORD ON AVON. Shakspeare's house and tomb; and the site of the house (his own house) in which he died.

I have a strange feeling about Shakspeare, that I never heard anybody express. Though he is seated, by the admiration of mankind, upon an inaccessible height, yet there never was a being among the great men of the world, whom I have felt, if he were living, that I could so easily approach, and so familiarly converse with. He impresses me with awe, he fills me with a sort of astonishment, when I read him; yet he draws my love and confidence in such a way, that it seems to me I should not have feared him at all; but could have met him at the corner of the street, or

have sat down with him on the first convenient rail of a fence, and talked with him as freely as with my father. What is this? Is it that the truly loftiest genius is imbued and identified, more than any other, with the spirit of our common humanity? Is it that the noblest intellect is ever the most simple, unsophisticated, unpretending, and kindly? Or, is it that Shakspeare's works were a household treasure-his name a household word -from my childhood? It may be, that all of these reasons have had their influence. And yet if I were to state what seems to me to be the chief reasons, I should put down these two words-unconsciousness-of which Thomas Carlyle has so nobly written, as one of the traits of genius-unconsciousness and humanity. He was unconscious of his greatness, and therefore would not have demanded reverence. He was an absolute impersonation of the whole spirit of humanity, and therefore he is, as it were, but a part of one's self.

If anything were wanted to contrast with the nobleness of Shakspeare, it might be found in a horrible act of meanness perpetrated here, which must draw from every visiter to this place, scarcely less than his execration. Shakspeare's house fell, after his death, into the hands of a clergymanwhose name-but let his name perish! This man,

being annoyed by the frequent visits of strangers to a mulberry tree before the house, first caused that to be cut down. And then, vexed by the levy of a poor rate upon the house, he angrily declared that it should never pay taxes again, and razed it to the ground!

VOL. I.L

CHAPTER VI.

Blenheim-Oxford, its Colleges and Chapels-National 1 -Ill Health of our People in America-Causes-Remed

BLENHEIM CASTLE AND PARK IN WOODSTO the present of the nation to Marlborough after battle of Blenheim. The structure is imme built on three sides of a square; the princ range of building one hundred and eighty feet l and the side ranges nearly as much. The par not larger than some others, nor so large; bu appears more extensive, from the openings thro the trees-not vistas-but openings through gro and clumps of trees, in various directions, and tending, apparently, almost as far as the eye o reach.

On the borders of an artificial lake, and upo fine swell of land, stood the old royal residen celebrated in Scott's novel, "Woodstock." N thing now remains to mark the spot, but two lar sycamores, planted when the castle was demo

ished, and Rosamond's well. There are some remarkable oaks with immense trunks, (one twentyseven feet in circumference,) said to be as old as Henry the Seventh, standing in a distant part of the park. By-the-by, the principal trees in all the parks of England, and all over the country, indeed, are the oak and the beech. There are some cedars of Lebanon, yews, &c.; but few elms, and none that I have seen to compare with ours on the Housatonic and Connecticut.

The chief attraction of this palace is found in its paintings. It is the first fine collection that I have seen. There is a suite of rooms, four or five hun dred feet long, filled with pictures-many of them by the first masters, Vandyck, Rubens, Carlo Dolce, Titian, Teniers, Rembrandt, Guido, &c. Nothing, I think, struck me so much as a Madonna, by Carlo Dolce. There is also a very striking full length portrait by Kneller, of Sarah, duchess of Marlborough-a very beautiful face, but looking as if it might easily furnish expression to all the fiery passions ascribed to her.

The library surpasses every room that I have seen, for magnificence; the walls, the alcoves, the doorways, all of marble-the room probably two hundred feet long, and thirty feet high-seventeen